Chapter 62
Willow
It’s been a week since everything shifted.
A week of dinners shared around my tiny kitchen island, of Hunter pulling me into his lap like I’m something precious, of Carson bringing me little things that make me laugh—sparkly pens, a sticker that says Omega but make it chaos.
A week of Graham disappearing during the day with no explanation, returning late with tired eyes and a look as though he’s keeping a secret. That doesn’t bother me; whatever it is must be important. But he makes my body sing every single night.
The mark on my neck from Hunter makes our bond stronger the more time we are together. It’s to the point where I know when he’s close by. I want to offer the same to Carson and Graham, but fear is a bitch.
They’re my pack—even if it isn’t official.
No one’s said it out loud, but I can feel the shape of it forming in the space between all of us. The way they orbit me. The way I’ve started to lean into them without hesitation.
Even the way they argue feels different now—less about protocol, more about who gets to cook dinner or hold the remote or keep watch over me when I fall asleep in the nest of blankets we’ve started making permanent on the living room floor.
I haven’t asked about Graham’s house. I know they have one—he mentioned it once. I think part of me is afraid to ask. Afraid it means something too big. Too permanent.
At the rink, Landon watches me, attempting to piece together who I’ve become without him. Almost as if he’s still searching for the girl he remembers, and doesn’t quite recognize the woman standing in her place.
Sometimes he offers advice. Throws out a quiet joke. Keeps just enough distance to make sure I know he’s still there.
But I watch him too—when no one’s watching me.
And I’d be lying if I said he didn’t still twist something inside of me. The way he did that first day on his sister’s porch, when he smiled and the world slowed down just for us.
It was only a week.
One week.
But it wrecked me for months.
So when practice ends and the team starts to filter out, their laughter echoing toward the locker rooms, I skate toward him with all the words I’ve been carrying since I left him behind.
He looks up, surprised, his helmet tucked under his arm, auburn hair falling messily over his forehead.
“I need to say something,” I start.
He straightens slightly, bracing.
“I don’t hate you,” I say, voice soft but firm. “I wanted to. For a long time, I did.”
His inhale is shallow, but he doesn’t speak.
“You hurt me, Landon. You broke something in me I didn’t even know I had.
And yeah, part of that’s on you—but not all of it.
I chased the fairytale. I thought scent matches were supposed to mean something unstoppable.
Something perfect. And I put all my hope in that…
in us… without realizing we weren’t ready. ”
His eyes flicker with something, guilt, maybe. Sadness.
“I know you were scared. I was too. But when everything crashed down—when my body was tearing itself apart because your mark was gone—you didn’t come.”
I blink hard, throat tight. “You let me go. And I had to find a way to survive that.”
He lowers his gaze, not quite meeting my eyes.
“And now you’re here,” I whisper. “I know you’re trying. And I see it. I do.”
His lips part, just slightly.
“You’re showing up. And I want you to know I notice that.”
His shoulders relax a little, but I keep going.
“But Landon...I needed you when it mattered. When I was hurting the most. When my body was tearing itself apart and I didn’t even know who I was without you.”
His throat bobs with a swallow.
“And now you’re here, and you’re doing all the things I wished you would have done back then.
But I don’t know what to do with it. Because it feels like I’m still healing from the version of you who didn’t fight.
And now I’m falling for the people who did.
Who stayed. Who caught me when I was at my worst.”
He opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand.
“I’m not saying you don’t deserve a second chance. I’m saying if you want one, you have to stop hovering. Stop waiting for me to make it easier. You want to stay? Then stay. But don’t make me carry the guilt of choosing someone else just because you showed up late.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Willow.”
I suck in a breath. That came out wrong. It’s hard to shake the anger I held on to. I shake my head. “I know, Landon; it doesn’t stop me from feeling it, though. And I guess, blaming you has become a default.”
He exhales, slow and rough. “I didn’t mean to be late, if I knew—really knew that I wasn’t actually protecting you, I would have come sooner.”
“I know,” I say, voice cracking. “But you still were.”
He steps forward, just a little. “Then let me be on time now. Let me prove it.”
I look at him. Really look. And I want to believe him. But I can’t say it yet.
So instead, I turn—and skate back toward the only steady thing I can hold on to.
Carson’s already at the edge of the rink, quiet and waiting. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask questions.
He just opens his arms.
And I crash into him.
My face buries against his chest, his scent wrapping around me. Solid. Certain.
His arms curl around me without hesitation, warm and sure.
“I’ve got you, peaches,” he murmurs, voice low and grounding. “I’ve got you.”
I shudder, silent tears soaking into his shirt. But he holds me tighter, one hand stroking slowly down my back, the other anchoring me in place. A low purr rumbles in his chest.
He holds my pieces together while I fall apart.
And when the worst of it ebbs—when the sobs soften into hiccups and my tears finally dry—I slowly pull back, blinking blearily up at him. I’m sure I look like a wreck. But Carson just smiles. He brushes a thumb under my eye, catching the last of the tears.
“Always causing chaos, I see.”
I let out a snort of a laugh, the sound half broken but real. “It’s what I do best, apparently.”
Carson doesn’t let go right away. Only holds me for another beat, until my breath starts to even out and the ache in my chest quiets.
Then he shifts, sliding one arm around my waist and guiding me toward the nearest bench.
“Sit,” he says gently, already crouching in front of me.
I obey without argument.
He starts unlacing my skates, his fingers fast and practiced. “You know,” he says, his tone light but sincere, “for someone who claims to hate feelings, you’ve got a hell of a lot of them.”
“Shut up,” I murmur, scrubbing at my face.
Carson grins, not looking up. “No, seriously. That wasn’t just venting. That was brave.”
I blink down at him. “For… what? Telling the truth?”
He shrugs as he slides the first skate off and reaches for the second. “Yeah. For not pretending you’re fine when you’re not. For letting yourself feel all of it—even the part of you that still cares about him. That takes guts.”
He pauses, glancing up now, his gaze steady on mine.
“And for asking him to show up for real. Not just show up physically—but emotionally. You didn’t slam the door, Willow. You left it open. Just…with conditions. That’s strength, not weakness.”
My chest tightens—but it’s not the same sharp, broken feeling from earlier. It’s softer now. Realer.
Once both skates are off and my shoes are in place, he stands and reaches for my hand, helping me to my feet.
“Now come on,” he says, snagging my skates and bag with his free hand. “You’ve earned a reward.”
“A reward?” I echo, blinking.
He shoots me a crooked grin. “Ice cream. Obviously. Mint chip, double scoop, or nothing at all.”
I snort. “You bribing me with sugar now?”
“Bribing? Nah.” His grip tightens just slightly. “Celebrating. You stood in front of someone you once loved, and you told the truth. That’s not easy. Especially not when the feelings aren’t simple.”
He opens the door for me, and as I step outside into the late afternoon warmth, he adds, “And if you decide there’s still space in your life for Landon—after everything—then okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I glance at him, heart fluttering.
“And if I don’t?” I ask quietly.
Carson smiles without a trace of hesitation. “Whatever you decide—him or not, now or later—I’m not leaving. Not unless you ask me to.”
My throat feels thick again—but not in the broken way it did before.
This time, it’s the good kind.
Later that evening, Graham’s brow furrows as he surveys the countertop, one hand on his hip, the other lifting the lid on the pan of simmering sauce. The smell of garlic and herbs fills the apartment, but I can tell something’s missing before he even says it.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I forgot the rosemary.”
“Didn’t you already use some?” I ask, hopping up onto the counter beside him.
He shakes his head, still focused on the stove. “That was for the chicken. I need fresh for the finish, or it’s gonna taste flat.”
I nudge his side with my foot. “There’s that produce market on the corner. I’ll run down and grab it.”
His head snaps toward me. “No.”
I blink. “No?”
“You’re not going out alone.”
“Graham,” I say slowly, sliding off the counter and stepping into his space. “It’s a block away.”
“Carson and Hunter can grab it when they get back,” he insists, jaw tight.
“They’ll be back after dinner’s done,” I argue gently. “You know it’ll be better with the rosemary.”
His frown deepens, and I can see the battle behind his eyes.
“I’m a big girl,” I say, trying to soothe the tension winding through him. “I lived a whole life before you three showed up. I know how to cross a street and buy herbs.”
“That was before Finn.”
“He hasn’t been around for a while,” I add quickly. “And if he does show up? I’ll scream, I’ll kick, I’ll mace him with a bottle of organic basil oil—whatever it takes.”
That earns me the ghost of a smile. I know it wouldn’t come to that, but if it puts Graham at ease, I’ll say it.
I rise on my toes and press a kiss to his jaw. “Come on, alpha. Trust me, just a little.”